


A Picture Tells...

by afteriwake



Series: A Different Path [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on vacation with Molly in California Sherlock got some unsettling voicemails. Upon returning home and receiving two more Sherlock realizes that the newest crop of killings that Lestrade is dealing with is related to the next tattoo in the story of Moriarty's plans for him. But this case takes a strange turn when Sherlock deduces there has to be more than one person involved for the killings to make sense. Can they catch both of the killers before things take a more personal turn for Sherlock?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thiscanbegin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiscanbegin/gifts), [patriciatepes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciatepes/gifts).



>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> I wanted to get back into writing casefic for the show again and this series always provides the perfect opportunity for that. Many thanks to my bestie **thiscanbegin** for giving me the idea for this story by suggesting a killer who stalks and kills people after they've had professional pictures taken because he feels like their souls were stolen and killing them will free them.
> 
> The lovely artwork accompanying this fic has been done by **patriciatepes** , whom this fic is also gifted to.

  
  
  


Sherlock had enjoyed his time away from London with Molly. He'd traveled a lot during the two years before he went to university, but once he started his career as a research scientist he'd stayed primarily in England. Traveling had been something he had missed over the years, so it had been nice to go away for a time. He knew Molly had also enjoyed the time away, and if she could have stayed longer he knew she would have. But she only had the week, and so when it was over they returned to London. They had gotten into Heathrow Airport at two in the morning due to delays and decided it would be best to go back to her home so she could sleep in as late as possible before her shift at ten.

He woke up before she did, just as he did most mornings, and he found she had curled up on her side and had an arm over his waist. That was not the position they had gone to sleep in, he thought to himself with a smile as he ran a hand on her bare arm, but it was a good position to be in to watch her sleep. He enjoyed that part most of all, just being quiet and being close to her. In the mornings his thoughts didn't tend to be so fast, so overwhelming like they were at times when he was actually trying to figure things out for a case or an experiment. He could be calm and centered in the morning when he was next to her.

“You should probably stop doing that so I can sleep,” she murmured sleepily about twenty minutes after he started running his hand on her arm. “It's nice, but distracting.”

“I didn't mean to wake you up,” he said with an amused smile as she snuggled closer.

“I was already kind of awake,” she replied. She lifted her head up slightly. “What time is it?”

He shifted his position and turned to pick up his mobile off the nightstand. “It's 8:17.”

“I'm glad I slept on the plane, then,” she said as she yawned slightly. “But I think I'm going to need coffee before I'm completely functional.”

“I can go make some,” he said.

She tightened her hold on him, shaking her head slightly. “I like you right where you are, Sherlock.”

He chuckled slightly. “I have to get up eventually. We both do.”

She sat up more and moved closer to him. “Eventually is the keyword. For right now I just want to stay in bed until I absolutely have to get out of it.” 

“I think that is an idea I could gladly get behind,” he said with a nod. “Do you want to attempt to go back to sleep?”

She shook her head. “I'm awake now,” she said. “I think I'd like to kiss you for a while and see where that goes.”

“That usually only leads to one thing,” he said, turning his body to face her.

“Do you have an objection to that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” he replied, moving his hand to caress her cheek slightly.

“Good,” she said before leaning in to kiss him. After a moment he tangled his fingers in her hair as she moved, pushing him back down onto his back. Admittedly he wasn't as experienced as she was, but there were a few things he found he enjoyed and being in this position was one of those things. He found that when she was in control of whatever it was they were doing when it came to being intimate it was quite enjoyable for both of them, and the niggling worry that he wasn't fulfilling her was buried deeper down for a while. She had pulled away from the kiss to move lower when his mobile began to ring. “Ignore it,” she said, her lips hovering over his pulse point.

“I plan on doing that,” he replied. He didn't want to focus on anyone other than her right now, no matter who else wanted his attention at the moment.

After a moment the ringing stopped, and he shut his eyes as she began to nip at his skin. And then almost as soon as she moved lower it started to ring again. They both ignored it and then it stopped. Things were about to get very interesting when the phone rang again, and she pulled away, hanging her head slightly. “Answer it. They're going to keep calling until you answer.”

He reached over for his mobile as she moved off from on top of him. He saw it was Lestrade calling and he frowned. He'd already told Lestrade the day before that he was going to go to Scotland Yard as soon as Molly left for work. Whatever reason he had for calling must be important if he was calling him hours before he was going to see him anyway. “What is it?” he asked, knowing he sounded quite irritated.

There was a slight pause. “I need you to come to a crime scene,” Lestrade said.

“Couldn't you have just left a voicemail the first time you called?” he asked. “I was going to come see you in a few hours anyway.”

“This _is_ the first time I called,” Lestrade said, sounding slightly confused. “We've had two suspicious murders in the last week that I think are connected, but I knew you weren't going to cut your vacation short so I decided to wait to tell you about it. But we had a third one this morning and I need you here now so I called you now.”

“So you didn't just call me twice?” Sherlock asked, glancing at Molly, who was frowning.

“No, I swear I didn't.”

“When were the other murders committed?” he asked.

“One was on Monday, and the other was on Thursday.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. On both Monday and Thursday he'd gotten calls from unknown numbers that had been nothing but heavy breathing and a strange music in the background he could barely hear. “I think this is another murderer Moriarty has sent to instill fear in the public. I got calls from unknown numbers both days with voicemails left that were unusual. I think I was being told to come home.”

“Wonderful,” Lestrade said quietly. “Are you able to come to the scene? If it is one of Moriarty's plots then I want to get it solved as quickly as possible.”

“Text me the address. I'll be there as soon as I can. I need to stop off at home and see if John is available to assist me.”

Lestrade was quiet for a moment. “I interrupted something, didn't I?” he asked.

“Yes, you did,” he said. “But this is important.”

“Molly's quite cross, isn't she?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock looked over at her. “No, she's more concerned at the moment. But she was.”

“Damn. She doesn't get angry often but it's quite a scary experience when she does.”

“I don't think you're in any danger,” he said. “Let me get off the phone and I'll get there as quickly as I'm able.”

“All right. I'll see you soon.”

Sherlock hung up at that point and looked over at Molly. “There's a case. I need to go.”

She nodded. “Promise you'll tell me what's going on, all right? If this is another one of _his_ plots it could go just like the cabbie killer's did.”

He could tell there was an unspoken “or worse” at the end of that sentence, but he didn't want to voice it out loud because the truth was, he felt the same way. Whoever it was that was involved in these murders had his mobile number, and he was sure they knew where he lived, and probably where Molly lived as well. “I will tell you everything,” he said. Then he paused. “I would like someone to accompany you to work for the time being. Just to give me peace of mind.”

She nodded slowly. “This could get very messy, couldn't it?”

“Yes, it could. And I want to keep you safe. Will you let me?”

“Yes, I will,” she said quietly.

He moved closer to her and leaned in, kissing her softly. She kissed him back as though she was relishing being close to him. When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers. “I'll talk to Lestrade and see if perhaps he can spare Sally for the time being. You two are friends and I trust her, and I think I'm going to need John's assistance for this,” he said.

“All right,” she said. “Be careful. I don't want to lose you.”

“You won't,” he said. He stayed near her for a moment before he got out of her bed, moving over towards where his luggage had been. He pulled out clothing and began to get dressed, glancing over at Molly as he did. “I'll call Lestrade on the way. Don't leave until someone comes here, all right?” She nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she said. “Be safe.”

He nodded and then made his way to her nightstand, getting his mobile, and then he left her bedroom. He pulled up Lestrade's contact and Lestrade picked up on the second ring. “Sherlock?”

“Is there any chance you can spare Sally for the day to stay close to Molly?” he asked as he made his way to Molly's front door.

“You think whoever is doing this could harm her,” Lestrade said.

Sherlock got to the door and opened it, stepping out. He was careful to lock up behind him. Molly had given him a key a few days before they left on their vacation together, and she had one for his home. He hoped she came out and put the other lock on as well before Sally got there. “If the killer or whoever it is that's calling me knows my mobile they could know much more about me. Sally is one of Molly's friends and I would be comforted knowing that she's making sure nothing happens to Molly.”

“I can have her stick by Molly until we solve this case,” he replied. There was a pause on his end as he called for Sally, then muffled conversation on his end for a few minutes after that. Finally he spoke again. “She's on her way now. She'll call Molly when she's at the door to let her in.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said. “I'll call John and have him meet us at the scene if he's available.”

“All right,” Lestrade said.

Sherlock hung up again as he got down to the street. He hailed a cab and then got in, checking his text messages and giving the address of the crime scene to the driver. Then he got on his phone again, calling John this time. When John answered Sherlock didn't give him a chance to speak. “What are your plans right now?”

“Eating breakfast,” John said slowly. “Why aren't you home?”

“I stayed at Molly's home last night,” he said. “Lestrade said there's a crime scene I need to get to, and I think it might be one of the cases Moriarty is behind. I've gotten strange phone calls when the other murders occurred.”

“Well, I'm almost done. Give me an address and I'll head out the door in ten minutes.”

Sherlock relayed the address. “Before you leave, tell Mrs. Hudson not to open the door for anyone. If whoever it is that called me has my mobile number we should assume they know more about me and may make a play at her.”

“I'll tell her,” John said. “Do you need food? Or coffee?”

“I can get both later,” he said. “Just get to the scene as quickly as you can.”

“All right. Ten minutes and I'll be on my way.”

“Very well.” Sherlock hung up at that point and turned his attention to the passing buildings outside the window. He had the feeling that this case was going to be one that showed just how personal things could get in the plot Moriarty had initiated from behind bars. He just hoped that by the end of it things could go back to some semblance of normal.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock got to the crime scene before John, but he had expected that because he had been dressed and out the door when he called him. Lestrade was waiting outside the home, frown on his face. It almost appeared to Sherlock that he had aged a bit in the last week or so, and he had to wonder if that meant the worst. He could handle a lot of things at a crime scene, more than some of the Detective Inspectors he'd consulted for, but there was one thing all of them took hard: the death of children. He rather hoped they would not be confronted with that this time. After a moment Lestrade noticed him and came over. “It's not a pretty sight in there,” he said.

“Crime scenes are rarely pretty,” Sherlock said in response. “Is there anything I should be warned about? Any victims of note?”

It took Lestrade a minute to get his implied meaning, but his eyes widened slightly. “No child victims. Same as the last scene, the little ones are still alive.”

Sherlock was surprised. “There were children in the home that are still alive?”

Lestrade nodded and pulled out his notebook. He flipped it open and looked at his notes. “The first scene in Strawberry Hill had no children involved. The victims were Paul Harris and Dawn Cowles. Paul was mid-thirties, Dawn was early-thirties. They'd been living in their flat for ten months now and they'd just gotten engaged a month prior. They were found by Dawn's best mate Alisa Gasca, who had come over to help Dawn begin to plan the wedding.” Then he flipped one more page, and then another. “The second set of victims were Branislav and Vesna Boskovich, found in Petersham. They were a Serbian couple, both mid thirties, who had emigrated here ten years ago and Vesna had just given birth to their daughter Dijana six months ago after apparently being told they would never have children. Neighbors reported hearing Dijana crying nonstop when her parents were supposed to be home and they called the police.”

“And today?” Sherlock asked. All the sets of victims had been found in areas associated with the Richmond upon Thames borough, including these newest ones, since they were currently in Hampton Wick.

Lestrade flipped another few pages. “The victims are Darren and Kay Stell. They have a ten-year-old daughter, Rachael, and a two-year-old son named Averell. Rachael was the one who found her parents, about two hours ago. We were called quite soon after it happened.” He closed his notebook. “She's taken it quite hard.”

“I would imagine,” Sherlock said quietly.

“I was going to try and talk to her now, if you want to join me,” Lestrade said. 

“Just don't ask me to talk to her,” he said. “Children seem not to take well to me. They haven't since I was quite young.” Lestrade raised an eyebrow slightly. “I had an off-putting attitude when I dealt with them, both in regards to investigations and my personal life.”

“When was the last time you dealt with a child?” Lestrade asked.

“Four years ago. A colleague begged me to watch her son for a few hours while she presented the results of an experiment we'd been conducting to our superiors. The child seemed quite eager to leave my presence.”

“How old was he...she...?” Lestrade asked.

“He,” Sherlock said. “He was seven.”

“Well, that explains it. I know my daughter was a bit of a handful at that age. Gave her babysitters all sorts of hell if she could. It's just a typical childhood thing.”

Sherlock looked at him. “You have children?”

“Just Liliana,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “My wife never wanted more than one.”

Sherlock nodded. He had deduced Lestrade was in a rather unhappy marriage when Lestrade asked for his help in the case that had brought Sherlock back to consulting, but he hadn't known children were involved. That would mean any case involving children would hit closer to home for him. “How old is she now?”

“Twelve. Right around the next troublesome age, actually. Soon she'll be a teenager and it will be hormones for her and headaches for me,” he said with a slight smile. He looked over at Sherlock. “You should probably get used to dealing with children. You never know when it might be important.”

“I suppose,” Sherlock said as another taxi pulled up outside the cordoned off area. John got out and paid the driver and then headed towards them. “Perhaps John can accompany you to talk to the daughter while I look at the crime scene.”

“If you want,” Lestrade said with a nod. He turned to John as he ducked under the crime scene tape and joined them. “Sherlock's off to take a look at the crime scene while I go off and talk to the victim's daughter. Who would you rather go with?”

“How old is she?” John asked.

“Ten,” Lestrade said. “There's someone here keeping an eye on her and her brother, but she was quite shaken. I want to get her someplace where she will be able to start wrapping her head around things in peace sooner rather than later.”

“Where is she going to end up?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“She and her brother will be taken someplace safe by people who will be able to keep an eye on them and help her cope with the trauma until we can clear any family members of their involvement and then give them temporary physical custody, at least until the courts grant permanent custody,” Lestrade said

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. It appeared just from what he'd seen that he should view the crime scene in as much context as he could. Perhaps it would be best to watch as Lestrade conducted the interview. “I can view the crime scene later,” Sherlock said. “I think I'd like to accompany you while you interview her.”

Lestrade nodded. “She's in her bedroom. It was thought being somewhere comforting would be best.” He nodded towards the home and the three men made their way into it around the crime scene personnel and police officers.

“Poor girl,” John said with a sigh as they got to the door. Sherlock saw the lock had been tampered with, and in a rather indelicate way. He turned to look at John. “To not only lose your parents but to be the one to discover them? That's got to be tough.”

“I would think so,” Sherlock said as he took in details. There were footprints on the floor in blood, and smears on the walls. He supposed the parents must have bled a lot, meaning there could be multiple different ways they had died, and that the killer obviously did not escape without being covered in at least the victim's blood. He took a step closer to Lestrade. “Don't interviews with witnesses, even children, have to be video recorded?”

Lestrade nodded. “We have someone who is going to record it. Rachael said she doesn't feel safe with the killer on the loose, so we decided it was best if we got the information here and then had her moved.”

Sherlock was quiet. “What if she has nothing to say, aside from what she saw when she found the bodies?”

“Then we'll take what we can get,” he said. “We don't know what she saw or when she saw it because she's spoken very little since getting off the phone with the 999 operator. And even that call was hard to understand because of the panic. We're hoping she's calmer now, after speaking with someone who has training in handling child witnesses.”

Sherlock nodded and went back to focusing on the home. They stopped before the end of the hall, which he assumed had the parent's bedroom, and Lestrade knocked on a door. A woman told them to come in and Lestrade opened the door. He didn't know much about what girls her age typically liked, but he was surprised when he saw the room was decorated as though she was inside a planetarium. There were posters of pictures from space on her walls, and the room itself was painted in a dark navy color. He glanced up at the ceiling and saw constellation maps on it. Then he turned his attention to the bed. There was a young girl with red hair curled up on it, clutching a stuffed animal in her arms. A young woman was sitting by the bed in a white wooden chair which looked like it came from the desk under the window. The girl sat up slightly as they got closer, before she spotted the policeman with the video camera coming in behind John. When she saw him she laid her head back down on the pillow and shut her eyes. Sherlock moved next to the bed and looked down at her. “I know nothing about the constellations,” he said.

“I know a lot about them,” Rachael said, though she didn't open her eyes. “Ursa Major and Ursa Minor are my favorites, because of the Big and Little Dippers,” she said. “Pegasus is also nice. The story behind him is interesting.”

“I only know a small amount of Greek mythology,” he replied. “Pegasus was the winged horse that Perseus used to rescue Andromeda, correct?”

Rachael nodded and then opened her eyes. “It wasn't from a stupid Kraken, though. It was from Cetus. The movies got it wrong.”

“Ah,” he said. “I've never seen the movies. My brother once read me the myth, though. I filed it away in my mind palace.”

She sat up more. “What's a mind palace?”

“It's where I store the things I see and hear and learn,” he said. “I've built a palace in my mind to house it all.”

“Do you know a lot?” she asked.

Sherlock looked over at Lestrade, who made a motion with his hands that he should go on. He glanced at the man setting up the video camera and then that man nodded. The woman who had been in the chair stood up and then Sherlock sat down in it. “I know a lot of things, yes. I'm a consulting detective, and before that I was a research scientist.”

“I want to be a scientist who goes into space,” she replied. “I want to be closer to the stars.”

“Perhaps one day you can be,” he said. He shifted slightly. “Scientists have to have powerful skills of observation, though. It's important to observe everything going on with your experiments. How good are your observational skills?”

Rachael looked down at the stuffed animal in her hands. Sherlock could see it was a brown rabbit with a white belly. “You want me to tell you about mum and dad, don't you?” she asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a nod. He was quiet for a moment, trying to think of what to say to see if he could coax her into talking. This was going more easily than he had expected, but he was wary of saying the wrong thing. “I know what it's like to see bad things when you're young.”

“Were your mum and dad killed?” he asked.

“No, they're still alive,” he said. “But I had been helping to solve crimes when I was young, and when I was around your age I was taken to crime scenes to see things. Places where violent things happen, they aren't pleasant, are they?”

“No,” she said quietly, a tear slipping down her face. “Mum...Mum wasn't moving. But Dad was fighting with the man with the knife.”

Sherlock felt his eyes widen, and he quickly turned to Lestrade, whose own expression was shocked. She hadn't just discovered the bodies, but she'd seen the killer fighting with her father? That was unexpected. Sherlock turned back to her. “Can you describe him?” he asked.

Rachael was quiet for a moment, and then shook her head. “I don't want to think about him.”

“I understand,” Sherlock said. He was quiet for a moment. “What did you do after you observed the struggle?”

“I went back to my room,” she said. “I had thought I screamed, or that he could hear me run, and so I went under my bed. I curled up in a ball and I stayed there until it got quiet. And then I waited some more. There's a phone in my parent's room, my dad's mobile, but there's also a phone in the kitchen. I went down there and I saw...” She trailed off.

“There was a lot of blood,” Sherlock said.

She nodded. “And then I remembered Mum had a mobile, in her handbag. I went there but I couldn't remember her password. I'm not supposed to know it, but Mum let me play games on the mobile sometimes. And I thought and thought, and then I remembered, and so I called 999. I just...I couldn't go in the room and I was so scared the man with the knife would come back, and then Averell started crying and I started crying and...” She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. “What if he comes back?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sherlock glanced at the women who had been in the room when he arrived. “Your name?” he asked her sharply.

“Devika,” she said. “Devika Chand.”

“Devika is supposed to make sure nothing happens to you,” Sherlock said, turning to Rachael. “But if you feel you need additional assistance, you can call me.”

Rachael nodded slowly and then opened her eyes. “What's your name?”

“Sherlock,” he said. “Sherlock Holmes.” He paused for a moment and then stood, pulling his wallet out of his coat pocket. Mrs. Hudson had suggested business cards and he'd had some made but he felt foolish handing them out. It appeared now, however, it might not have been a bad idea. He fingered the card for a moment and then held out a hand towards Lestrade. “Pen.”

Lestrade nodded and stepped forward, handing him a pen. “Here.”

Sherlock took the pen and then scribbled his mobile phone number on the back of the card. Mrs. Hudson had told him to use the landline for any calls he might receive but Rachael would do best with his mobile number. He then handed the girl his card. “Call me if you need me. When you feel as though you want to talk about the man, I will come over straightaway. But until then I will work very hard to bring him to justice. All right?”

She nodded again and looked at the card. “All right.”

“I'm going to go now, but that's simply so I can work. As I said, call me if you feel need.” He put his wallet away and then turned. John stepped out beside him and Lestrade behind him. “Take me to the scene,” he said when they got outside Rachael's bedroom.

Lestrade nodded and then moved in front of him. “Christ, it's worse than I thought if she actually saw something.”

“But it will help, when she feels safe enough to talk,” Sherlock said quietly. In his mind he was already sorting the information. The most important thing that he knew was that the killer was a man, and that he struggled with the male victim this time which meant there could be DNA under the victim's fingernails or other signs of the killer on the victim. That also meant there could be defensive marks on the killer that could be used to positively identify him. Lestrade stepped in front of Sherlock and John and led the way to the end of the hall. He gestured to a room but hung back. Sherlock stepped inside and took it all in at once. There was quite a bit of blood all over the bed and bedding and headboard, as well as the nightstand that he could see. “Stabbing?” he asked Lestrade as he stepped further inside.

“Yes. We couldn't tell how many stab wounds there were. The pathologist on shift is not very good at his job but he managed to get that the other victims hadn't fought back, though they weren't killed in the same room before.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asked, moving closer to the bed to see the blood splatter on the side nearest the door. Judging from the height and angle that it had hit the headboard he deduced this was where the wife had been sleeping.

“First scene, male victim was killed in the kitchen and female victim was killed in the loo. Second scene, male victim was killed in a chair in the sitting room and female victim was killed in the bedroom. Bit of a surprise in that scene. There was evidence she had been in the baby's room when the killer found her, and purposefully moved to the bedroom.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock murmured. “The killer does not want to harm children in any way, physically or emotionally.”

“He's already harming them emotionally by killing their parents,” John said in a gruff tone. “I mean, he didn't do Rachael many favors.”

“But even if she did scream or he heard her run like she thought he might have he made no move to harm her,” Sherlock said, moving to the other side of the bed. It was quite obvious a struggle had taken place on this side. “It would have been in the killer's best interest to eliminate any witnesses, so either Rachael was quiet as a mouse or she did make noise and the killer is resolute in his need to not harm children.” He knelt down and looked at a gouge in the nightstand before pulling out his pocket magnifier. He examined it closely. “Lestrade, have someone make a cast of this gouge.”

“Anything else?”

“How thorough are the crime scene photographs?” Sherlock asked, standing up and looking at Lestrade.

“Anderson took them,” he said.

“That's the one thing he can do competently enough, I suppose,” Sherlock said with a sigh.

“He is more than competent,” Lestrade said with a sigh.

“Not that I've seen.” He looked around the room one more time. “I want to see the other crime scenes, if they haven't been released yet.”

“No, they're still being watched by uniforms,” Lestrade said. “We were going to release the first one when we realized the same weapon was used at the second crime scene, so we held off. I'll take you both.” He left the master bedroom with John behind him. Sherlock headed out after them, pausing outside Rachael's room for a moment. She had curled up on the bed again, stuffed rabbit in her arms, but he could see she also had a grip on his business card. Good. Hopefully she would feel up for speaking to him soon and they could move forward on getting a positive ID on the killer. And with that thought he made his way out of the home, intent on going to the other two scenes and learning what he could.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock studied the other crime scenes closely, getting everything he could from them. The more he saw the more he realized the third set of murders had gone horribly awry for the killer. These scenes were bloody but they were not a mess like the other scene had been. There did not seem to be the same level of violence at the first two scenes than there had been at the most recent one. He wondered what had led to that, because it had to have been more than simply the husband waking up during the attack. Based on the description of Darren Stell unless the killer had been physically imposing he might have been able to take him. And the fact that Lestrade had not been sure how many stab wounds there were but he had said there had been far fewer with the other victims was troubling.

When they were done he went to the criminalistics lab to go over the evidence that was taken and photographs of the crime scenes as they were with the bodies still there. He knew Lestrade would ensure he had copies of them to take home to put on his wall, along with any other photographs he found to be pertinent. It was not normal police protocol but as long as they were merely copies and not the originals Scotland Yard seemed to let the rules be bent. He was not allowed to take any of the evidence, either, not after the stunt with the suitcase, but in this case photographs would be all he needed, unless he could talk Lestrade into having a second cast of the gouge made for him. But he wasn't going to push his luck unless it was absolutely necessary.

If he was lucky Molly had been asked to take over any further bodies that might come in, including the two from this morning. If she had he could expect thorough autopsy reports from her. He'd glanced through the first autopsy report and found a pitiful job had been done. If the second set of autopsies were any better he'd be surprised. He almost hoped the bodies hadn't been released so Molly could redo the previous autopsies. If that was not an option it was going to be hard working with subpar information, but since it had seemed that there had been no real divergences until this morning with the scenes he'd just have to do what he could with whatever came of this set of autopsies.

He was holding off on sharing the voicemails, not because he didn't want to know every scrap of information from them but because they weren't as important. The crime scene photographs and the autopsy reports would be a much bigger clue than six messages, four of which he knew were faint music and ambient background sounds. But eventually he had nothing else to pore over so he went to the audio lab to meet with the technician and Lestrade. John had been by his side the entire time but he had gotten a text message from a potential employer at a small clinic and he wanted to take the meeting. Sherlock had sent him off with a wave of his hand.

“Okay, let's access your voicemail,” the technician, a woman named Shannon McLeish, said. She was one of the people who worked in the labs that Sherlock admired, owing to the fact that she had extraordinary hearing due to being considered legally blind. Anything requiring the most sensitive of human hearing was given to her to analyze since her sense of hearing was phenomenal, and her other overdeveloped senses were quite remarkable as well. Molly had once sent along a container of leftover vegetable lasagna and Shannon had told him down to the spices every ingredient in it. She also happened to have a very wry sense of humor and particularly detested Anderson and, as she called it, “his grandiose showboating.” That had automatically made her one of Sherlock's favorite people to work with and he requested her whether he needed her specific skill set or not for any audio lab work he needed run.

Sherlock plugged his phone into her machine and then accessed his voicemail, keying in his pin number. “No memorizing it to listen to them on your own,” he said to Shannon.

“Now why would I want to listen to gushy love messages from Molly when I could listen to much more interesting things, like Idris Elba's private voicemails?” she said in a teasing tone, which made her usual warm Scottish brogue even warmer.

“Can you really do that?” Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” she said evasively. “Not legally, at any rate.”

“I'll pretend this conversation didn't take place,” Lestrade said, shaking his head.

“Is he shaking his head disapprovingly with a frown on his face, like a disappointed father?” Shannon asked Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced over as he went to his saved messages so he could play his messages in the order he'd received them. “Approximately, yes.” 

“I'm sorry, Dad,” she said in Lestrade's general direction, which elicited a small grin and rolled eyes from Lestrade.

“That got a grin and an eye roll,” Sherlock said. He got into the folder and then hit play. “This is the first one I got.”

“Be quiet as a mouse, gentlemen,” she said as the automated timestamp began to play. The message started a couple seconds later and she listened carefully. “Well, the music I don't recognize, but the quality seems to be as though it's from a music box or a snow globe,” she said. “It's some distance away from the phone, but still close. I'd say the person is definitely in a room and standing near the source of the music but maybe a few meters away.” The message ended and the options for what to do with the message began. “Are they all like this?” she asked, looking towards Sherlock's general direction.

“The next three are. The volume of the music varies, and the ambient noise is louder in the two I got on Thursday.” He paused. “It also sounded as though it was vaguely different ambient noise.”

“How many messages do I have to listen to total?” she asked as Sherlock saved the message again and the next time stamp started.

“Six. I got two more this morning that I haven't listened to.”

“Surprises. Lovely,” she said as the time stamp finished up. She listened intently to this message. “There's an interesting fluctuation in this. Someone drove by wherever it is the caller is standing. They're close enough to the window that when one car revs its engine as it goes by the voicemail picks it up. But they aren't right at the window or it would have been louder.”

The message ended and Sherlock picked up his mobile to save this one. “Can you tell us anything about the locations?” Lestrade asked.

“Not really,” Shannon said. “It's a rather quiet room.” 

“Great,” Lestrade muttered as the time stamp for the third message started. Shannon listened to it without comment but when Sherlock went to skip forward she held her hand up. “What is it?”

“Play it again, Sherlock,” she said.

He went back to the message menu and played it again. “You said at the second scene there was a baby crying?” Shannon asked Lestrade.

“Yeah. That's how the neighbors knew something was wrong. The baby cried for hours and no one took care of her.”

“What was her name?” Shannon asked.

Lestrade pulled out his notebook and flipped through it. “Dijana Boskovich,” he said.

“A woman said 'Hush, Dijana,' very softly in the background,” Shannon said. “This voicemail was left at the residence where the murder took place.”

“Holy hell,” Lestrade said, his eyes wide.

“The music is so quiet it's almost non audible, as well. I think the first two voicemails were left from outside the crime scene and the third was left from inside.” She made a 'go on' motion with her hands. “Play the fourth one.”

Sherlock nodded and moved on to the fourth message. The volume of the music was much louder, and on the better equipment Sherlock realized her could hear a young infant whimpering dimly in the background. “This was definitely at the crime scene. The mother wasn't murdered in the room where her child was, was she?” Shannon asked.

“No. She was in the bedroom,” Lestrade said.

“That's what I thought,” Shannon said. “It's obvious that the baby whimpering is coming from a baby monitor that's in the room where the person leaving the voicemail is, and the music is in the room with them. It's why the whimpering sounds tinny compared to the music. And the music is definitely coming from a music box or snow globe. The pause and soft creak in between music was someone winding it up.”

“Now on to the surprises,” Sherlock said as he saved the fourth voicemail. He went to his new voicemails and started the first once he had received that morning. The time stamp started for the fifth voicemail and unlike the others it was a sound he recognized. His blood ran cold. “That's nowhere near the crime scene,” he said quietly.

“But it's definitely distinctive,” Lestrade said as the conversation ended and the music started again. “I swear I've heard those men before.”

“It's the owner of Speedy's talking to the news courier,” Sherlock said, his eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” Lestrade said, shocked. “When I've picked you up early in the morning for a case, I've heard the blokes chatting. That means...”

“That means the killer was outside my home when he left the voicemail this morning,” Sherlock said, getting angry. “He was close. He was so _close_.”

“He didn't know you were at Molly's, though,” Lestrade said.

“But what if I had been home?” Sherlock asked. “What if I'd rushed outside because I could hear the conversation on my phone from outside? Was the killer going to kill me, too?”

“There's still one more message,” Shannon said quietly.

Sherlock composed himself and then saved the message, going to the next one. This time there was heavy breathing for thirty seconds before someone spoke. “Get a move on, Holmes,” a deep masculine voice growled. There was a brief bit of ambient noise and then the options started for the message.

“That had to be the killer,” Lestrade said. “He's getting impatient.”

“Well, he's got my full attention now,” Sherlock said darkly. He straightened up and unplugged his phone from the machine it had been plugged into. He pocketed it and then leveled his gaze at Lestrade. “And I think he's going to wish he hadn't gotten it when I'm done.”

Lestrade actually looked visibly frightened for a moment. “I don't want to be him,” he said quietly.

“Sherlock has a scary face on then?” Shannon asked.

“Very scary,” Sherlock said.

“Just remember the man needs to be alive to be tried, and if you rough him up too much you can end up in prison yourself,” Shannon said.

“I'll try to remember that,” Sherlock said.

Lestrade nodded towards the door, and the two men left her lab. “We do have one other lead to follow up. Both victims prior to this mornings had portraits taken within the last few weeks. The first set of victims had them to send out cards announcing their engagement, and the second set had some family portraits done at the request of family abroad. We don't know the name of the photographer, but they were all done inside the victim's homes.”

“Are you hoping Rachael might know something?” Sherlock asked him as they walked towards the main exit.

“I'm hoping. She really doesn't want to talk to anyone, though. I was thinking maybe you could come along?” Lestrade asked hopefully. “She seems to like you well enough.”

“If you think it will get the answers you need,” Sherlock said. “And perhaps she might be willing to open up about the killer. The sooner we get a description the sooner we can show it around Baker Street and see if anyone remembers him lurking.”

“Then let's head over to my office and see where she's at, and then we'll go talk to her,” Lestrade said. He glanced over at Sherlock. “We'll get him. You'll see.”

Sherlock nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. He'd make damn sure they caught the perpetrator, because the idea that they had been waiting outside his home filled him with a sense of rage he had not felt towards Moriarty before. If this is how the game was to be played then Moriarty had no idea what he had gotten his minion into, and he would gladly take the man out of the equation as quickly as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

Hours later Molly was at her stove, stirring the gravy for the meat dish she was preparing. She'd been relatively quiet when he'd called her to tell her what he had learned from the crime scenes and what had been on the voicemails from that morning, only telling him she'd been asked to redo the previous autopsies because he was not the only one to find the results worthless, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. He wanted to be close to her, to comfort and reassure her, but he also wanted to give her space, and he was at war with himself as to what was the better course of action to go with. After a few more minutes of indecision he decided to find out from her exactly what she needed. “Molly?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

“He had your mobile number. You don't give that number out to many people,” she said quietly. “But there's something off about all of this, about the timing.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“The murder on Monday. It took place at eleven in the evening, right?” she asked, ignoring the sauce for a moment to turn and look at him.

He nodded slowly. “Eleven seventeen was when the first death occurred, to be precise. The other was shortly afterward.”

“When did you get the voicemail that day? I mean, what time would you have gotten it if we were here in London?”

He shut his eyes and thought for a moment. “It would have been...” His voice trailed off. “Eleven sixteen London time.”

“So if the killer had called you while he was committing the murder, you would have heard the murder, because the fatal stab wound was in his neck and it only took thirty seconds for him to bleed out. He either would have been stabbing them or you would have heard the man dying if the killer was on the phone with you,” she said.

“Someone else made the call,” he said quietly as he realized what she was implying. “And I suppose if I compare the exact times of when the calls would have been made here in London they would correspond with the stabbings starting for each of the first four victims.” He ran a hand over his face. “But what made the murders this morning different?”

“Maybe it had to do with the struggle, like the partner was watching and worrying about how to deal with that, and then it was too late. Or maybe the little girl was heard after all and they were debating what to do about it for a time. Or it could do with the voicemail. They could have wanted you to go outside and see them, because if they were outside your home they had to know you were supposed to be back in London,” Molly said. “Things were very different this time.”

“Perhaps. At least now something that was nagging at me makes sense, that there are two people involved. The third voicemail made me suspect that there was more than one person involved, but I had no concrete evidence.” He looked over at her and saw she had a death grip on the wooden spoon she was using. “Molly?”

“They know your phone number. They were outside your home. For all we know, by know they know you were here at my flat this morning instead. They know you were in bed with me. If they know that, who knows what else they know?” She looked down. “Now do you see why I'm so worried?” she asked softly.

He got up off the stool by her counter and moved over to her, standing in front of her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his chest, and he held her close. “The first step is to find the actual killer. When Rachael feels up to giving details about what and who she saw then we will have a better idea of who we are looking for. Once we have him then we can figure out who his accomplice is.”

“What if the accomplice is crafty?” she asked. “What if he stays in the shadows and pulls strings like a puppet master?”

“That's why I'm involved,” he said. “To shine a light in the shadows and expose him to the world.” She lifted her head up and looked at him, and he let go of her to frame her face in his hands. “I promise you, Molly, I will not allow you to be hurt in this game. Not by these perpetrators or any others. I will keep you safe, I swear.”

“You'll try,” she said quietly.

“And I will succeed,” he said. “Stubbornness is usually considered a personality flaw but in this case I think it's something that is an asset. I will not let you or anyone else I choose to let close get hurt by the people Moriarty has involved in this game.”

She nodded slowly, then leaned in and up. He dipped his head down and kissed her softly, relishing the kiss. Having her close and kissing her strengthened his resolve and made him double down in his mind on his vow to keep her safe. She was so important to him, more than he could really express with words, and if anything happened to her he knew he would be beside himself. He did not want to see the man he would become if she was hurt or worse in this game Moriarty was playing with him. Finally she pulled away from him and he let her go. She turned back to the sauce she was stirring. “Have you studied the tattoo yet for clues?”

“It's an old fashioned camera with some sort of silvery film in front of it,” he said. He'd memorized each of the tattoos that had been on the bodies from the first case he'd worked on, so now he rarely needed to glance at the high resolution photographs these days. “I believe the tattoo after that pertains to a different killer Moriarty plans to unleash on the world.”

She paused in her stirring. “Have the victims had professional portraits done recently?”

“Yes, all of them, but there had been a problem figuring out which photographer was used, as they were not done at a studio. The victims all had the portraits taken in their sitting room, though Rachael had said her family's portraits were supposed to be taken at a studio. She managed to remember the name of the photographer, so Lestrade was checking to see if the other portraits were taken by the same person,” he said. Then he frowned. “Moriarty is making this too easy.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“A tattoo of a camera, the victims all having portraits done within weeks of their deaths...it all connects too easily. He honestly didn't plan for anything very elaborate,” Sherlock said. “It's not a puzzle at all. It's _simple_.”

“That doesn't seem to be the style of a man in the middle of a huge cat and mouse game,” Molly admitted.

“I know,” Sherlock said as his mobile began to ring. He picked it up off the counter. “It's Sally.”

“Answer it,” Molly said.

He nodded and answered his phone. “Yes, Donovan?”

“You know the photographer our witness mentioned, Dolores Enright?” Sally said.

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

“She's been found, or at least we think it's her.”

“What do you mean you _think_ it's her?” he asked slowly, and he noticed that caught Molly's attention.

“A body was found in a trunk today when we finally got into her studio. It was hidden away where the smell wouldn't bother anyone, but we had a cadaver dog on site just in case and they realized it was there. The body has been in there for at least a month, we think.” There was a muffled conversation on Sally's end of the phone. “We need Molly's expertise in this. This is the type of corpse that requires a more...”

“Delicate touch?” Sherlock filled in.

“Precisely,” Sally agreed.

“Are you on your way over to get Molly, then?” 

“Actually, I'm on my way to pick both of you up to come to the studio” she said. “Greg wants you to see everything as it is before the body is taken away, and he wants Molly to go with the body to make sure nothing is disturbed too much. I just assumed Molly would be cooking right now.”

“You were right in your assumption,” Sherlock said. “Is someone going to stay with Molly while she examines the body?”

“I promise I'll stay with Molly and keep her safe for you while she does the autopsy for us,” Sally said

“All right. We're at Molly's flat, as I'm sure you've guessed,” he said. “We can be ready in ten minutes.”

“I'll be there in twenty,” she said before she hung up.

He turned to Molly. “Dinner will have to wait,” he said. “There's been a development.”

“I gathered that,” she said, turning the heat off under the sauce and putting a lid on it.

“Apparently our killer's accomplice may not be the photographer, if the corpse found in the trunk in the photographer's studio is the actual photographer in question,” he said. “Our victims may have been dealing with an imposter.”

“So it's gotten decidedly less simple?” Molly asked, pulling the meat out of the oven.

“Very much so,” he said. “Now it all hinges on getting Rachael to talk and describe the man she saw fighting with her father.”

“Maybe she'll talk to you some more tomorrow,” Molly said. “I mean, she told you about seeing her father fight with the killer, and then more about the photographer. She seems to have taken a liking to you, so if she opens up to anyone it will probably be you.”

“I don't know why,” he said, rolling down the sleeves of his shirt that he'd rolled up when he'd settled in to watch Molly cook their meal. “All I did was mention I knew a little Greek mythology and I had a mind palace, and that I had been a scientist.”

“Sometimes it's the small things,” she said as she set the meat on the top of the stove. It had been fully cooked, and he surmised she was going to simply put foil over it and put it in the refrigerator until whenever they were done for the evening. He was proven correct a moment later. “You might want to find out where she's at and see if you can pay her a visit, if she'd like one. Answer questions she might have as a sort of update tomorrow. But mostly just be there in case she decides to open up. You never know what might get her to talk.”

“I suppose,” he said quietly. “I just usually don't do well with children.”

“I think you'll learn as time goes on,” she said with a small but encouraging smile. “And, of course, it depends on the children. If it were your own, the situation might be different.”

He stilled in what he was doing. He hadn't really thought about having children of his own, having a legacy to leave behind aside from what he did as a child and what he did in regards to this game he was locked into playing. For most of his life he hadn't considered having the type of life where he could live with someone else, share a home, have children with someone he cared about. But since Moriarty reentered his life and brought Lestrade, John and especially Molly into his orbit he realized it would be a life he would probably enjoy having, even with the potential danger. He could imagine having a future with Molly, and maybe some time down the line that future could include marriage and children. A mental image flashed in his mind of Molly visibly pregnant and he realized it was a sight he wanted to see in real life at some point. When he finally focused again he saw she was giving him a strange look, and he composed himself. “I suppose. I would certainly be more interested in my own children.”

“Oh, I think you'd be more than simply interested,” she said, her smile getting wider. “You'd adore the bloody hell out of them. I think you'd be a fantastic father.”

“You really think so?” he asked, feeling a warmth fill him up.

She turned away from the food and came over to him, leaning in and kissing him softly. It was a brief kiss, but that was all right. It said quite a bit to him. “I do,” she said when she pulled away. She turned and went back to the food, leaving him with a small grin on his face.

“We can see about getting a bite to eat on the way to the crime scene, unless you would prefer an empty stomach in anticipation of whatever it is that might be in the trunk.”

“No, it's all right. You have to have a strong constitution to do what I do. I don't mind eating on the way.” She finished putting foil over the pan and then put it in the refrigerator. “The gravy may not taste as good later, but the meat will be fine if we want to eat this later.”

“I'll trust your judgment,” he said.

“Let me get ready and then we can wait for Sally,” she said, taking her apron off. “It'll just take me a few minutes.”

He nodded. “All right.” She made her way out of her kitchen towards her bedroom, and Sherlock went back to the counter for his mobile. He picked it up and opened his text message app, sending a text to John that read _Break in the case. Complication as well. Call Lestrade for address and meet us there. SH_ He set his phone down and waited for a response, but instead it rang. He picked it up and saw it was an unknown number, just like the other calls. He let it ring and ring, going to Molly's landline and dialing Lestrade's mobile number. 

Lestrade picked up after two rings. “Who is this?” he asked in an irritated tone of voice.

“It's Sherlock, on Molly's landline,” he said as his phone stopped ringing. “I just got a phone call from an unknown phone number.”

“Bloody hell,” Lestrade said. “We may have a new set of victims tomorrow.”

“Or an actual clue,” Sherlock said. “Remember the last voicemail this morning.”

“Well, when we're done here we'll go to the lab and listen to the voicemail there,” he said. “See if it's any different from most of the other ones.”

“All right,” Sherlock said.

“This was the absolute last thing we needed,” Lestrade said with a sigh.

“Unless it's a clue,” Sherlock said.

“Since when did you become an optimist?” Lestrade asked curiously.

“Perhaps I'm thinking the partner is upset that we've found the hidden body, and is not going to take the news well.”

“Partner? What partner?” he asked, the volume of his voice rising. “Sherlock, where did this partner theory come from?”

“From Molly, actually. It has to do with when I got the first voicemail. It was delivered while the first murder was being committed, but you don't hear a murder or a person dying. Hence the theory that there is a partner involved.”

“Wonderful,” Lestrade murmured as Sherlock's alert for a voicemail went off. “Anything else?”

“Whoever called definitely left a voicemail,” Sherlock said.

“Let's hope it's useful,” Lestrade said. “We need some good news before the city goes into a panic. The news media wants to declare this the work of a deranged serial killer, now that there’s a fourth murder scene. The publicity is the last thing we need.”

“I agree,” he replied. “Molly and I will be there as soon as we can.”

“Fine. I already called John so he's on his way. He might actually beat you here if Sally doesn't use the sirens.”

“Then we'll see you whenever it is we arrive,” Sherlock said before hanging up. Molly came out moments later. “I appear to have gotten another call.”

“Oh no,” she said with a soft groan.

“Well, there may not be a victim. It may be like the last voicemail I got this morning.”

“We can hope,” she said. “As soon as I get my coat on I'm ready. You?”

“Same,” he said with a nod. He moved over to her and then gently touched her face. “It will be all right, Molly. I promise.”

“I know,” she said, giving him a small smile before leaning in and kissing him softly. He kissed her back, wanting to keep doing this, but he knew now was not the time. Right now there were more pressing concerns, and he would have to take care of the crime scene before he could lose himself in her kiss again.


	5. Chapter 5

In A Flash Portrait Studio was in Twickenham, situated once again in the Richmond upon Thames borough, and Sherlock was not surprised by that, nor by the fact it seemed to be near the art center of the borough. From the outside it looked like a warm and welcoming place, the type of place you would bring a family with young children for portraits sent out with the yearly holiday cards. At least it would if it wasn't for the crime scene tape and uniformed police officers loitering outside, keeping onlookers at bay. Sherlock, Molly and Sally ducked under the crime scene tape and Sherlock bit back a groan at the man in his path. “Anderson,” he said coolly.

“Holmes,” Anderson said in response, the barest hint of a sneer on his lips until he caught Sally's eye. Sherlock sent her a discreet glance and saw her moving her hands in a “don't do it” signal. This was an interesting development; he knew Anderson was married and he also knew the man had a wandering eye, and if he had his eye set on Sally it couldn't possibly end well for her, which would actually be a shame. She was a halfway decent person and a fairly competent police officer. If she made good choices she could go far in her career at Scotland Yard. Getting involved with Anderson would not be one of them. He turned his attention back to Anderson at that point. “Seems a bit cut and dried. Someone killed the photographer and took her place. Probably someone wanting access to the victims.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock said tightly, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He already had deduced that much, as well as the fact that the murderer was most likely an assistant of some sort who knew the ins and outs of the business, who could persuade customers who actually knew the photographer that nothing was wrong and entice the new clients to let the portraits be taken at their homes so she could get familiar with the layout. He had a few tentative theories that could either be confirmed or discarded based on who, exactly, was the dead person in the studio.

Anderson glared slightly. “Well, if you think you know everything, then who took her place, hmm?” he asked, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at Sherlock, or attempting to, at any rate. It helped that Sherlock was a bit taller than him.

“Sherlock! Molly!” Lestrade called out, giving Sherlock the escape he needed. He brushed past Anderson and made his way to the detective. “You actually beat John here. Did Sally use the sirens?”

“It's the only time I've ever been glad to be in a police car before,” Molly said, giving Lestrade a small grin as she shifted her hold on the case she'd brought with her.

“You've been in one before?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“Oh, I got into my fair share of scrapes with the law when I was young,” she said, turning her grin towards Sherlock. “I went through a rebellious teenager stage for a year, give or take.”

“I want to hear about this,” Lestrade said.

“As do I,” Sherlock said.

“Maybe one day if I'm a bit too much in my cups,” she said. “I don't really talk about it otherwise, though perhaps I could, if I want to give myself an air of mystique.”

“You don't need it,” Lestrade said. “You're perfectly interesting as you are. You're the Yard's most trusted pathologist and you aren't even in your mid-thirties yet.”

“Well, career wise I'm fascinating, but my personal life left a lot to be desired until recently,” she said. “But speaking of my career, where is this body you want me to look at?”

“Right this way,” Lestrade said, nodding his head towards the stairs. “The whole lower level is the studio, and the upper level is the office. It's only half the size of the lower level, but there's also access to a hidden room in the office. We found all sorts of interesting things there, including the trunk. That drove the cadaver dog crazy, and when we opened it...” He trailed off.

“You got a rather gruesome surprise?” Molly finished.

“More or less.” They made their way up the stairs and Lestrade opened the door for them. It appeared a hole had been cut in the wall to access the hidden room. Understandable, if the dog had indicated there was something in there, but if they had waited and called him in he could have found the entrance in ten minutes. Quite possibly five, he thought to himself as he looked around. It looked as though it was a typical if old fashioned office, aside from a very modern computer sitting on the desk. He looked around as Lestrade led Molly into the hole in the wall.

He sat at the computer and booted it up. It didn't require a password, which was unusual, and he used his gloved fingers to open various programs and look at the data inputted for the business. Something had changed roughly a month prior, and business had dropped sharply. When he felt he had gotten all he could from the computer files he looked around the desk. There were opened and unpaid bills stacked neatly on the desk, with a few of them indicating they were to be sent to collection agencies. The rent for the building was one such bill, and he looked up. “Was there an eviction notice anywhere on the premises?” he asked Lestrade.

Lestrade left Molly in the hidden room. “No, but there had been a request on file at the local police station to accompany someone from the leasing company to deliver one,” he said as he glanced at his notes. “When they found out we wanted to come in to search the premises but we couldn't find the business owner we got permission from them since the building belonged to them.”

“From what I could see in the financial records the business was doing moderately well until one month ago,” Sherlock said. “There were an average of twenty to thirty customers a week for fairly expensive portrait packages. A month and a half ago the number began to dwindle down to half that by a month ago, and in the last month there has been only six clients, and none in the last week.”

“And I'm assuming we'll recognize some of the names on that list?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock nodded and moved back to the computer, pulling up the files again. “Cowles, Boskovich and Stell were all appointments seen within the first week and a half of this month. In that order, too.”

Lestrade moved behind him. “And the other clients?”

Sherlock pulled up the next three files. “Marshall and Ricardo Carroll-Orozco in Mortlake, Alisa Miesner and family in Ham and...” He paused for a moment. The last name seemed quite familiar. “Charles Lefebvre and family in Whitton.”

Lestrade began writing down the address for each client. “I'll send detectives to each address to check on their welfare. If they're all right we'll very strongly encourage them to go into protective custody for their own safety.” He turned away from the computer.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said.

“Yes?” he asked, pausing.

“Lefebvre...he's a barrister. He specializes in defending juveniles,” Sherlock said. “If I'm not mistaken, he was Moriarty's barrister when the Carl Powers case went to trial.”

Lestrade's eyes widened. “We both may need to pay him a visit personally.”

“If the killer is going in order, he's safe for the moment. The Carroll-Orozcos are in more danger currently.” Sherlock stood and took his mobile out of his pocket. “We don't have time to wait to go to the lab for me to listen to the voicemail.”

Lestrade nodded, signaling for a uniformed officer to come over. As Sherlock began to access his voicemail Lestrade told the uniformed officer to make sure it was detective inspectors who went to the addresses, and they'd let him know if they should expect anything at the Carroll-Orozco residence in a moment. Sherlock got the voicemail started and then put it on speaker. “It's all her fault,” a woman said. “It's all that bloody girl's fault. We'll make her pay, Sherlock, just like we'll make you pay. If you think this will slow us down you're mistaken.” There was a faint pause of ambient noise and then the options for the message began.

“That must be the partner,” Lestrade said.

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “Where are Rachael and Averell now?”

“Safe,” Lestrade said. “We can go check on them ourselves to be sure.”

Sherlock nodded, suddenly filled with a sort of dread. If anything happened to Rachael he wasn't sure he would handle that well. He needed to know what she knew about the killer now more than ever, because her very life could be at stake. He just hoped he could get that across without terrifying her more.


	6. Chapter 6

Once Lestrade was satisfied the scene would be fine without either his or Sally's presence he and Sherlock left to go to the center where children in protective custody were housed. Sherlock had thought it might be a very bleak and utilitarian place but it actually seemed quite warm and homey. They were met by a member of the staff, who told them that no one had tried to come for Rachael or Averell, and the only person who had spent time with them since they had arrived after they spoke with Lestrade and Sherlock at Scotland Yard's headquarters was Devika Chand. In fact, they were told, Devika had only just left two hours ago, and when Lestrade alerted the facility to a potential threat she said she'd come there as quickly as she could.

They were taken to a comfortable looking room with a soft sofa and squishy chairs, as well as plenty of stuffed animals, books and games. Sherlock realized they were there to both distract and entice children just as much as keep them entertained; in order to get the information that was needed for whatever had landed the children there would take a great deal of time and patience and encouragement, but sometimes that would not be enough. The promise of playing a game if they answered a series of questions, or offering to have a pretend tea party while they waited could do wonders in getting the information they needed. And the rooms were monitored discreetly with video cameras and microphones, so the deer in headlights look he'd seen cross Rachael's face earlier in the day would not come again when they realized they were being recorded. Point of fact, they would probably never be aware they were being recorded.

Devika arrived five minutes after they were settled, dressed to the nines in a floor length garnet red gown that was slightly off the shoulder. She gave them a sheepish smile as she fingered the diamond choker at her neck. “I was at the opera with my parents,” she said as she moved her hand to the clasp at the back and removed it, putting it into the clutch she carried with her. “I was told it was urgent so I didn't bother to change.”

“We're sorry to pull you away from your evening but there was a legitimate threat to Rachael's well-being,” Lestrade said. “The killer has a partner, who left a message on Mr. Holmes's voicemail tonight. We believe since we may have thwarted part of their plan they will be getting desperate.”

Devika's eyes went wide. “We can have the security presence increased discreetly, and postpone releasing the children into their aunt's custody for the time being,” she said. “May I hear the message?” Sherlock nodded and pulled his mobile out. He pulled up the voicemail and then played it for her. When it was done she looked resolved. “That is more than enough to get the custody transfer postponed. I'll see to it myself as soon as this interview is done.”

“We need her to talk about the killer, as well as the photographer who took the portraits. We believe the photographer was an imposter, posing as the actual photographer, and they are the accomplice,” Sherlock said. “Which do you believe would have the best results?”

Devika thought for a moment. “Talking about the photographer. She still doesn't want to think about what she saw in her parent's bedroom, and since she was willing to talk about the photographer earlier she may be willing to do it again.” She paused. “One of the people who works here has training as a sketch artist. I'll see if he's on duty and if he'll join us so we don't have to have her go through it all twice.”

Both Lestrade and Sherlock nodded. “Thank you for your assistance, Devika,” Lestrade said.

“She's a lovely girl,” Devika said with a sad smile. “She deserved much better.” She stood up and then left the room, leaving the two men alone.

“If the sketch artist is on duty tonight and we can get a sketch of the woman, it will help,” Lestrade said, turning to Sherlock.

“Only if she wasn't wearing a disguise,” Sherlock said.

Lestrade's hopeful mood visibly deflated. “Right,” he said quietly.

“If we can get her to talk about the killer we have a greater chance of catching them both,” Sherlock said. “But as it wouldn't be best for Rachael I won't push too hard.”

“If you come off as an arse I'll kick you in the shins,” Lestrade said. “Fair enough?”

Sherlock nodded. “Fair enough.”

Lestrade was going to reply but he got a text message. He pulled his mobile out and Sherlock could see him tense for a moment and then relax. In the time they had been there they had gotten word that both the Miesner and Lefebvre families were safe, and they'd been anxious to hear about the Carroll-Orozco family. When Sherlock saw Lestrade relax, he let out a breath. “The residence had been empty when the detectives arrived so I had them wait. Marshall Carroll-Orozco just arrived and said he and his husband had been at the hospital waiting for the birth of their first grandchild. The detectives are going to station a uniform outside of the hospital room and when they do decide to leave the hospital Marshall has agreed he and his husband will go into protective custody until the killers are caught.”

“Good,” Sherlock said. “But this could make our duo unpredictable, since we've managed to take away their intended victims.”

“We'll put uniforms outside your home and Molly's home, just to be safe,” Lestrade said. “We already know they know where you live, and we should assume they know where Molly lives now too.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “I think I would prefer it if Molly stayed at Baker Street for the time being,” he said.

“I honestly don't see her saying no if you make the suggestion,” Lestrade said. “I'd call her now if I was you. She may not have started the autopsy yet.”

Sherlock nodded and pulled up her contact before hitting send. It rang three times before it was answered, but not by Molly. “Hello?” Sally said.

“She's started the autopsy, hasn't she?” Sherlock asked.

“Ten minutes ago,” Sally replied. “That doesn't mean I can't take her mobile out there and put you on speaker. Unless it's a conversation I shouldn't hear, of course.”

“No, it's fine if you hear this conversation,” he said.

There was a pause on Sally's end, and then a muffled conversation. After a moment the sound of the bone saw got louder before stopping abruptly. “Sherlock?” he heard Molly ask. “What is it?”

“The potential victims have all agreed to enter into protective custody,” he said. “There is a chance our killing duo will retaliate by going after me directly or those I hold closest. I had thought it might be best if you were to say at Baker Street with me for the duration of the case, so that we are all under one roof.”

There was a brief silence. “All right. But I'm bringing our dinner over. I'm going to be famished by the time I'm done.”

He smiled briefly. “That's fine. I'll meet you at Baker Street, then. John should be there, as it was decided it was best to limit who was here with Rachael. I'll inform him you'll be there.”

“You'll probably be back before I will. This is going to take a while, I think,” she said.

“Then if I do arrive before you do I will wait up for you.”

“All right. I'll see you soon. Love you.”

“I love you too, Molly,” he said before ending the call. He looked up to see Lestrade grinning widely and he glared slightly. “What?”

“I just think you two are kind of cute, that's all,” he said. “You make a very nice couple.”

“I know we do,” he said.

“I think if it ever gets serious, like giving each other drawer space and introducing each other to your parents serious, that you two are going to spend the rest of your lives together,” Lestrade said. “And you can quote me on that.”

“Well, it was rather your fault we met in the first place,” Sherlock said thoughtfully. “If you hadn't asked for my assistance on the case and she hadn't been the pathologist working on it we could have spent years working at the same hospital and never spoken to each other.”

“Then make sure I'm in the wedding party if it gets that far,” Lestrade said with a grin as the door opened. A young man stepped in first, and then Devika stepped in with Rachael next to her. Rachael was clutching the same stuffed rabbit she'd had both times they'd talked to her before, though she was in a different set of pyjamas then she had been this morning. “Hello, Rachael,” Lestrade said.

Rachael nodded to him, then looked at Sherlock. “Has there been any progress?” she asked him.

“Some,” he said. “We need to know about the man fighting with your father, but we also need to know about the woman who took the portraits of your family.”

“He was there,” she said quietly as she sat on the sofa next to Sherlock. She tucked her chin into the top of the rabbit's head. “He was helping her take the pictures, but he was so bad at it. Dad got so angry at him, and he said some mean things. I could tell the man was angry because his face got a purpley color like the night sky when it starts to get dark but the woman calmed them both down.”

Lestrade's eyes were wide when Sherlock glanced at him, and he could see Devika's were as well when he looked over Rachael's head to the other side of the sofa. “So this morning was not the first time you had seen him?” Sherlock asked slowly.

Rachael shook her head. “He seemed strange. He was mumbling to himself, and he tried really hard not to get in front of the camera. And every time the flash went off, he winced, even though he wasn't in front of the flash.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “Did you hear what he was mumbling?”

“No,” she said. “I just hoped he'd go away.” She looked up at Sherlock. “Why do I have to tell you about the photographer?”

“Because she has been helping him hurt people,” Sherlock said quietly. “And she might try and hurt other people now.”

Rachael looked down again and shut her eyes. “I think her nose was fake. And she sounded younger than she looked.”

“So you think she was wearing a disguise?” Lestrade asked as Sherlock's fears were confirmed.

“Yeah,” Rachael said. “Scientists are supposed to be good observers, and that's what I observed.”

“Those were very good observations,” Sherlock said. “Did her hair appear to be real, or do you think it was a wig?”

Rachael thought for a moment. “I think it was real. It was blonde. Almost white, like old persons hair, but there wasn't any dark bits in it. But the man pulled it by accident and if it was a wig it would have come off, right?”

“I think that would have been the case,” Sherlock said approvingly.

She was quiet again after that. “You wanted me to tell you what she looked like, didn't you? That's why Charles is here, right? To draw her?”

“That had been the idea,” Devika said softly. “I don't know if it will help these gentleman, though.”

“But describing the man would, right?” Rachael asked quietly.

“It would help quite a bit,” Sherlock said.

“Then I'll describe him,” she said. She looked over at Sherlock. “Just promise you'll stay right here, okay? In case I get scared?”

“I'll stay right here,” he said. Devika stood up at that point and Ryan moved over to take her place. He began by showing Rachael different aspects of facial structure, and Rachael would tell him what looked like it fit most. Then he would draw it on the pad and she would have him make edits. A few times her voice would grow very quiet, and in two instances it cracked, as though she was about to cry, but Sherlock hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it each time, and she'd take a deep breath and continue. Soon enough there was a fairly fleshed out sketch of the killer in front of them. Rachael gave it one last look and then turned, burying her face in Sherlock's side and beginning to sob. After a moment Sherlock put an arm around her and rubbed her back, hoping it helped. He had not been comforted much as a child but he imagined this would have been something he would have liked if it had happened. He looked down at Rachael. “Thank you very much, Rachael. You were the most tremendous help.”

She pulled away from him and wiped away the tear tracks with the back of her hands. “Make sure they don't hurt anyone else, all right?”

“I promise,” Sherlock said with a nod. Rachael stood up and Devika did as well before leading her out of the room. Ryan handed the sketch pad to Lestrade, who studied it. Sherlock leaned over and looked at it. “Let's make sure that's plastered all over town by the morning.”

“Oh, I can guarantee it will be,” Lestrade said with a slightly feral grin. “If they think they can hide they're sorely mistaken.”

“Let's just hope they don't attempt anything stupid like the cabbie killer did now that their plan has gone awry,” Sherlock said as he stood. This had been a major break in the case, and he had hope that it would be wrapped up quickly and Moriarty would be foiled once again.


	7. Chapter 7

John was still awake when Sherlock got home nearly an hour later, personally dropped off by Lestrade himself, and they chatted for a bit before John decided to turn in for the night, owing to the brand new job he had at a clinic run by a Ms. Sarah Sawyer. Sherlock made a mental note to check her out, just to be on the safe side. Molly had still not arrived at Baker Street so he assumed he was in for a wait and he made himself some tea. He'd managed to drink the entire pot and was debating on making himself a second when he heard the key turn in the door. He stilled, slightly wary, until the person opening the door spoke. “Sherlock?” Molly said. “Are you still awake?”

“Yes,” he called back out, relaxing. “And I have good news.”

“Oh, that will be wonderful to hear,” she said as she came up the stairs. He saw she was carrying the suitcase she had taken on their trip together. He imagined it was packed with clothes better suited for their current weather and not the warmer climes of California. She set it down by John's chair and came over to him, kissing him softly. “I don't mind autopsying bodies that have been dead for a while but they're usually much more messy.”

“Did the forensics team get the trunk when you were done?” he said.

She nodded. “Anderson was there, ready to swoop in and take it from me. He can be quite annoying sometimes.”

“He has designs on Donovan,” Sherlock said.

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I've told her it's a bad idea since he's married but he treats her much more nicely than most of the blokes she goes on dates with.”

“Then we should set her up on a date with John,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Well, he is a decent man, he's single and never married, and he understands the type of work she does so he won't be demanding when plans change or she's busy,” he said, counting off reasons on his fingers. “And I think he'd be amenable to it.”

Molly shook her head, smiling at him. “You've given this too much thought, Sherlock.”

“Donovan is not my friend, that's true, but she deserves better than Phillip Anderson,” Sherlock said. “And John could do worse than her.”

“Well, it just so happens I have a few men I'm hoping to set her up with,” she said, sitting on the arm of Sherlock's chair. “But we could always hold John as a last resort.”

“I suppose I can live with that,” Sherlock said.

“So what is your good news?” she asked.

“Rachael gave us a description of the killer,” he said. “What's better, she helped us with a sketch.”

“Was it hard for her?” Molly asked sympathetically.

Sherlock nodded. “It was, but she knew it was the right thing to do. We also know the accomplice wore a disguise when she worked with the clients. Fake nose and possible fake skin at the very least. She was pretending to be an older woman.”

“That fits with what my autopsy showed,” she said. “The victim was definitely a woman, and in her mid to late fifties, which puts her around the age of the photographer who owned the studio. There was also a rod in her leg from a surgery she'd had that had a serial number. I'll have to call in the morning, but I can get a positive identification with that.”

“I'm fairly sure it was Dolores Enright,” Sherlock said. “The accomplice we're looking for worked as her assistant, learning the ropes of the company and getting familiar with the clients so that when Dolores left for her vacation, as she had told people, they wouldn't question it too much. She has acting talent, I'll give her that, and a marginally impressive skill for theatre make-up, though she didn't think to use a wig to cover distinctive locks. She was able to fool a few people that Lestrade and Donovan talked to who know Dolores Enright.”

“But how does the male killer fit into all this?” Molly asked.

“Rachael said he was the assistant at her portrait session. I also think I know why there was so much violence towards Darren Stell. Apparently our killer made quite a few mistakes during the session which angered our victim greatly. The overkill may have been caused by residual anger over harsh things said during the portrait session.'

“Overkill is right,” Molly said grimly. “He had thirty-three stab wounds in his body, and many of them were delivered after the fatal stab to the heart.”

“Rachael said the killer was mumbling something while he was working,” he said thoughtfully. “And the camera flash made him wince.”

“Well, camera flashes are bright, especially on cameras that professionals use,” she said thoughtfully. “And they can be loud.”

“But I think Rachael was trying to say he wasn't even close to them,” he said. He was quiet for a few more seconds, then shook his head. “It can all keep for the moment.” Then he looked at her closely. “I thought you were bringing the meal you'd made.”

“After hassling with the corpse I decided it wasn't worth it,” she said.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked. She shook her head. “Then after we put your things away we'll get takeaway, since I haven't eaten either.”

“I actually get my own space in your room?” she asked with a smile.

He reached over for her hand. “Permanently, if you'd like,” he said quietly. “I know we haven't been together all that long, but when I asked if you would stay it struck me as absurd that you didn't already have things here, all things considered.”

“I would like that very much, Sherlock,” she said with a wide smile, leaning down towards him to kiss him softly. It may have been intended to be a brief kiss, he wasn't sure, but he reached over and pulled her onto his lap. She pulled away to get more comfortable before kissing him more deeply. He started to not care that they were in the sitting room and John or Mrs. Hudson could come upon them at any moment, he realized as he snaked a hand under her blouse to settle it on the bare skin of her waist. She must not have cared either because she moved her hands to his shirt and began to undo the top button, and then the one underneath.

They stopped when they heard a thud on the front door. Molly pulled away and looked down at him. “Was there a uniformed officer at the door when you arrived?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “Right by the door.”

“I think we might have unwanted visitors, then,” he said. Molly eased herself off his lap and gave him a questioning look. “Go to my bedroom and lock the door. In the drawer in the nightstand on my side there is a loaded gun. Do you know how to use one?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Go on your side of the bed after you have it and aim the gun at the door. Shoot if it opens without me knocking first. I'll knock twice, then once, then three times. Understood?” She nodded. “Go.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I have another gun here,” he said. “Now go.” Molly left the room as he heard the barest groan of the front door opening. He went to the side table and reached underneath it to the gun he had taped there. There was also a gun in the kitchen if he had need of it, but he was hopeful this one would suffice. He knew the intruders thought they had the element of surprise so he sat down in his chair and waited, leveling the gun at the doorway. After a moment there was the slight creak of the loose step that everyone else knew to avoid, and so he spoke. “Just so you know, I do have a gun, aimed directly at the doorway.”

There was silence for a moment. “You won't shoot, Mr. Holmes,” the woman who left the voicemail that evening said.

Sherlock thought for a moment, then aimed for the area above the doorway and fired one shot. He knew that would wake John and Mrs. Hudson up, and he really hoped neither of them did anything stupid. “You are quite mistaken in that assumption,” he said, lowering the gun back to the doorway. “Now show yourself and don't do anything rash.”

After a few seconds the man came into the doorway. His face looked exactly as Rachael had described it, down to the faint scar running across his left eye. When he stepped into the sitting room the woman came in behind him. She was definitely much younger than mid fifties, but the platinum hair would have fooled anyone not paying close attention. “Moriarty sends his regards,” the woman said.

Sherlock scoffed. “Moriarty would have you both taken out if he knew how spectacularly you'd bungled this up,” he said. “He's always struck me as the type who doesn't tolerate failure.”

“Who said this was a failure?” the woman said with a smirk, crossing her arms. “We have you right where we want you.”

“And who's to say _I_ don't have _you_ right where I want you?” he countered.

“The policeman at the front is out for the count,” the man said.

“But not dead,” Sherlock said. “You have specific reasons to kill.”

“Yes,” he said. “To free the souls.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Really, don't get him started,” she muttered under her breath.

“To free whose souls?” Sherlock asked, ignoring her for the moment.

“The camera traps the souls. Not the children's souls, though. Children are too innocent and pure. But the adults...when their body dies the camera releases their soul and it goes up to Heaven,” the man said in a tone of childlike wonder.

“And so all you were doing was freeing them,” Sherlock said. The man nodded. “You were helping them.”

“Yes.”

“But you let her trap them,” he said.

The man wrung his hands. “She said I had to help. She said they were bad. Wicked people! The first two, they lived in sin. And the second two, they had a child in an ungodly way. The third...the man was evil. He was rage incarnate, she said. And the others, they were evil too.”

“She manipulated you,” Sherlock said quietly. “She's the wicked person. What do you call a monster who traps souls who could ask for redemption?”

“Oh no you don't,” the woman said, a sneer on her lips. “Don't you _dare_ turn him on me.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a gun, leveling it at Sherlock. “I'm not going to take the fall for this, Moriarty be damned.”

“No killing,” the man said, reaching over and hitting the gun out of her hand. She looked at him in shock. “No killing no killing no killing!”

“You idiot!” she shouted, turning on him. She hit him with her handbag and then he slugged her across the face and she fell unconscious to the ground.

The man turned to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't ease his grip on the gun just yet as the man took a step closer, but then he sunk down to his knees. “If I pray hard enough, do you think God will forgive me?” he asked.

“I honestly don't know,” Sherlock said quietly as he heard John come thundering down the stairs. He came into the sitting room, gun drawn. “John, call Lestrade. I don't think we'll need the sketch run in the morning papers after all.”

“How on earth did you...?” John began to ask before trailing off.

“Psychology does have its uses, I suppose,” he said, getting up. He made his way around the man, who had fervently begun to pray, and headed towards his bedroom. He knocked twice, then once, then three times. After a moment he heard footsteps and then the lock unlocking, and Molly threw the door open. “We're safe now.”

“Thank God,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. He held her close, shutting his eyes and relishing the moment. They stayed that way for quite a long time, until they heard sirens approaching, and then she pulled away and looked up. “I suppose there's no reason for me to unpack my things, is there?” she asked.

“Well, there are still drawers that need filling,” he said thoughtfully. “Since you already brought clothing over, perhaps it should stay. That way you don't need to lug a heavy suitcase back.”

“Then I'll unpack after the police leave and we've finally eaten,” she said with a smile. “And I'll make sure it all stays here.”

“Good,” he murmured before leaning in to kiss her. It hadn't worked out quite how he'd expected, but it had been a satisfactory ending and he supposed that was what mattered most in the end.


	8. Chapter 8

A week later Sherlock found himself in a different but familiar visitation room at the prison. He had requested this meeting even though everyone else had tried to talk him out of it, including Moriarty's childhood lawyer. Lestrade, Sherlock and Charles Lefebvre had gotten into a rather extended conversation about the plot to draw Charles into a game, since it appeared now that Sherlock might not be the only person Moriarty was going to target in this game of his. Charles just wanted to forget the whole thing, count himself lucky that he had been saved, but Sherlock knew better. If someone didn't put a stop to the game sooner or later Charles Lefebvre was going to end up a victim, along with anyone else Moriarty had set in his sights in the last twenty-five years. Sherlock was here today to find out just who those people might be.

He looked up at the opening door and saw Moriarty being led in. Solitary confinement was doing Moriarty no favors; he was quite pale now, and he seemed a bit more haggard. He glared at Sherlock. “I almost thought to decline a meeting with you out of spite,” he said as he got pushed into the seat and chained to the table and floor. “But let's just say curiosity got the best of me.”

“Another one of your plans derailed,” Sherlock said, leaning back in his chair. “The killer who killed because cameras stole people's souls is in jail now. I imagine he'll plead insanity or claim some sort of mental defect, but his accomplice, the one working for you, she'll get the maximum sentence. She's not a master manipulator like you thought she was.”

Moriarty shrugged. “Well, can't win them all, I suppose.” Then he leaned forward. “Tell me. Is Lefebvre still breathing air and living the good life?” Sherlock stayed quiet and Moriarty's face got a hard set. “Never trust the hired help, especially if you aren't actually paying them.”

“This game isn't just between us, is it?” Sherlock asked conversationally. “You're going to use it to take out as many people who have wronged you as you can, and you're going to watch me scramble around and try to save them.”

“Well, I can't actually _watch_ you do anything, Sherlock, since I don't have access to television or newspapers or the world wide web, and since no one comes to visit little old me to tell me what's going on in the world I'm in the dark,” he said. “It doesn't mean I have to make it easier on you, though. In fact, it's much more fun for me to imagine you flailing about, worrying about your near saves and the 'oh, were they connected to Moriarty?' moments.”

Sherlock set his jaw at that. “You were an insufferable arse as a teenager and apparently that hasn't changed,” he said in a tone of disgust.

“Takes one to know one,” Moriarty said with a smirk. “Though, I do imagine that you may have grown out of it a bit. Tell me, are there special people in your life? Friends? Lovers? Are there actually people who tolerate you and don't just want to pick at that magnificent brain of yours?” Sherlock stood up, turning his back on Moriarty and moving to the door. “ _Oh._ ”

“Oh what?” Sherlock snapped.

“I struck a nerve. There _are_ important people in your life. People you hold quite dear. Don't worry, Sherlock. I'll make sure their deaths are quite painful.”

Sherlock whirled around, stalked around the edge of the table and went over to Moriarty, grabbing him by the front of his prison uniform and hauling him up out of the chair. For a moment Moriarty actually looked genuinely frightened, Sherlock realized. Good. “You remember me as a boy. A sniveling brat of a boy with a chip on his shoulder and an ego the size of a small planet. And I still may have aspects of that left, but one thing you _haven't_ experienced is my rage. I may not be able to stop this game, Moriarty, but if those I hold dear are harmed in any way I vow I will make you regret it.” The guards came to separate them and Sherlock rudely dropped Moriarty back into his chair. “And you will find, _James_ , that I am a man of my word.”

With that, he made his way back around the table and went to the door that opened to the visitors side of the prison. He opened it with so much force it slammed against the outer wall, and after a moment it bounced back before he slammed it shut. He had just broken visitor protocol but he didn't care. He knew he had made a grave mistake in there. If there was any way at all that James Moriarty was able to have contact with the outside world, and Sherlock had to admit anything was possible, then he had just exposed that he had weaknesses. It would not take much digging to find out about Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and John and Molly, and now he had put them in even more danger than before.

He forced himself to calm down, and then he left, making his way outside the prison. He was going to pay exorbitant cab fees for having it wait there but Lestrade said Scotland Yard would reimburse him eventually. He went to the waiting cab and slid into the seat, looking over at Molly. She gave him a worried look. “Is everything all right?”

“I may have given away too much,” he said quietly, reaching over for her hand. “Not specifics, but now he knows for certain there are people I do not want to lose.”

She grasped it tightly. “Well, if he's going to do something, we'll just have to be as prepared as possible,” she said. “That's the best we can do.”

“I lost my temper,” he said, shutting his eyes. “I let him get to me.”

“This whole game would get to anyone,” she said. “You just have to keep going, take every day as it comes and try and enjoy the good things without worrying about the bad or what could be bad.” He opened his eyes and she gave him an encouraging smile. “That's how I live my life.”

He reached over and touched her face. “I wish I could live more like you do,” he said quietly.

She leaned in and kissed him softly. “I plan on being around for a long time,” she said softly when she pulled away. “So you have plenty of time to learn from my example. All right?”

“All right,” he said. She gave him one last quick kiss and then gave the driver her home address before resting her head on his shoulder. He let go of her hand and shifted to put an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close. He may have made a mistake in there, but for now he just had to do as Molly suggested and take each day as it came. That was the only thing he could really do.


End file.
